


putting his foot down

by coloredink



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Foot Fetish, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think I'd know, if I had a foot fetish," said John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	putting his foot down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kinkmeme prompt, like, years ago. Found it and thought it wasn't terrible, so I put it up.

"Do you have a foot fetish?" Sherlock inquired, as if he were asking if John had a tenner he could borrow for cab fare.

John had to finish coughing on his tea before he could answer. "Er, no?"

Sherlock fixed John with one of his reptilian, unblinking stares and said, "You don't sound very certain."

It was another one of those lazy days--well, for John it would be a lazy day, time to catch up on his medical journals and perhaps actually read one of the many papers that Sherlock had sent to the flat. For Sherlock it was apparently the most hateful day that had ever existed, the way he moaned and flung himself on and off the furniture. At one point he'd slumped himself over the kitchen table, poking one of his more esoteric experiments (something about bromides), before retiring to the much-abused couch, where he now lay with his feet up on one of the arms. John had spent most of that time safely ensconced in his chair with a copy of the _Guardian_.

"I think I'd know, if I had a foot fetish," said John.

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise and returned to staring at the ceiling, his arms behind his head.

John tried to resume drinking his tea and reading the paper, only to find himself reading the same sentence over and over again. He sighed, put down the tea on a stack of magazines, folded the paper, and set that down as well. "All right, out with it. What makes you think I've got a foot fetish?"

Sherlock sniffed. "You stare at my feet."

John tried to think if in any of the months of their acquaintance he had ever stared at Sherlock's feet. He studied them now. They were just feet. No fungus, unsightly long toenails, or calluses to speak of. They were not unusually large, nor were they unusually small. Perhaps the toes were slightly longer than normal, but nothing outrageous. "I do not," he decided.

"You do. You're doing it now."

"That's because you brought it up!" 

Sherlock wiggled his toes. "Paraphilia is an odd thing. It's completely arbitrary, this classification of sexual stimuli into 'normative' and 'non-normative.' And podophilia is so innocuous, compared to, say, frotteurism, or zoophilia." He sat up suddenly. "Come here, John."

John carefully didn't move, though his hand twitched. "Er, why?"

"Because I am going to bring you off with my foot," said Sherlock. When John just stared, he rolled his eyes, as if John were being incredibly tiresome, and said, "Well, if you insist." And he got up, stepped on and over the coffeetable, and stalked across the room, until he was standing in front of John, who was fairly pinned to his seat in what felt very much like terror. "Don't move," he said, and brought up one long leg, flamingo-like, to press the ball of his foot against the front of John's trousers. John gasped, then pressed his molars together and closed his eyes, clutching the arms of his chair as if he might fly out of it otherwise.

"It's novel," Sherlock said, conversationally, as if what he was doing was no more unusual than...well, than anything else he did, all of which was pretty damn unusual. "Typically, when someone demonstrates a form of partialism towards me, it's my hands. Or my voice, if that falls under partialism, which it may not." He kneaded John's rapidly hardening erection with his toes and cocked his head. "You're enjoying this."

"To be fair, I'd be enjoying it if you were using your hand, too," John said in a strangled voice.

"Well, I can't keep this up forever," Sherlock said, and let his foot drop back to the floor. John let out an explosive burst of air. " _Now_ will you come to the couch? Or bed, if you insist, but the couch is closer."

"The couch is fine," John said, faintly, but it was nearly half a minute before he could move.

Which was how John ended up on one end of the couch with his trousers round his ankles, while Sherlock braced himself against the arm at the other end and rubbed his feet against John's erection. He alternated between one foot and the other and tried various tactics, ranging from tapping the shaft with the balls of his feet to pressing his heels against John's sac. John began leaking copiously before long, and Sherlock spread the fluid all along John's shaft with his toes before resuming his experimentation.

"Oh my God," John said, like a man about to witness a miracle.

Sherlock looked up, an expression of alarm crossing his features. "You don't want to suck my toes, do you?"

John huffed out a little laugh. "N-no. But I think, I think I'm going to come pretty soon, if you keep that up."

"Oh," said Sherlock. "Good." And he went back to brushing John's shaft with the tops of his feet. The skin was different there, softer, and John let out a soft moan and rolled his head back and forth against the back of the couch. Next, Sherlock tried rolling the head of John's penis between two toes, which made John's fingers tighten against the cushions. Finally, he brought up both feet, closed the arches around John's cock, and began to rub up and down.

"God," said John, eyes closed. "Oh God," he said, and then came.

John opened his eyes to find Sherlock drawing his feet away with an expression of disgust. "You got semen on my feet," Sherlock complained.

"Well, yes," John said. "That's generally what happens, when you give someone a footjob. Comes with the territory."

Sherlock wiped his feet off, somewhat ineffectually, against John's shirt. John was feeling too sated to mind, at the moment. "Well, I hope you're satisfied."

"Very," said John. "Although, you know, if you were hoping to _discourage_ my foot fetish--which I still don't have, by the way--positive reinforcement is not the way to go about it."

"Hmm," said Sherlock. "Well, it wasn't boring."

\---end---


End file.
